


everyone goes crazy over such and such and such

by shinealightonme



Series: what useless tools ourselves [4]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam's extensive issues re class are likewise unresolved but at least he has some fun with them, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Author's extensive issues re the City of Los Angeles remain unresolved, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 13:56:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15341307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: Supposedly nothing good happens after midnight, but Ronan always thought that proverb was bullshit.





	everyone goes crazy over such and such and such

**Author's Note:**

> I owe the world some pushy Adam smut, so here is some pushy Adam smut.

It's so late at night that Ronan makes the drive from Burbank to the Westside in twenty minutes, so he's expecting the apartment to be dark when he finally fucking gets home.

Instead, the light's on in the living room, the television is glowing blurry muted b-roll at him, and Adam is sprawled over the arm of the couch in a pose that no human has ever intentionally fallen asleep in.

Ronan shuts off the television. Glances at Adam's laptop long enough to recognize the names on the screen as being from the current Case from Hell, and then he shuts the laptop and goes and hides it in the cupboard where they keep all the pots and pans that Adam never touches because he's a kitchen disaster.

Adam's still asleep, so Ronan swipes a flashlight out of the random-crap drawer before he heads back into the living room.

"Hey, Parrish." He nudges Adam's side with his knee. "Wake up," and Adam opens his eyes to a flashlight shining directly into them.

"Jesus, Lynch, get off me." He shoves Ronan away and sits upright, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm half deaf, now you want to blind me, too?"

Ronan heads down the hall for the bathroom. "If it means you don't stay up all night writing emails, yeah."

He can just hear the sound of Adam gathering up papers. "I only stayed up _half_ the night writing emails," like that's an excuse. "Gansey called to ask if I'd seen Ken Burns' Vietnam, we fell down a bit of a rabbit hole."

"'Cause that's something that can't wait until it's not three in the morning."

"It is if you're Gansey," Adam answers from the living room, amused. "Shit, it's really three o'clock -- your shoot ran long?"

"Don't fucking ask me about that fucking shoot." Ronan grimaces at his reflection in the mirror. Turns both knobs on the sink to full blast and washes his face, scrubbing hard to get all of the makeup off. The makeup department promised him it would look neutral, that it was just to make him look "normal" under the camera, but it feels loud and obvious and fake and Ronan wants it off of him.

"You realize that now I have to ask."

Ronan looks back up and sees his face is clean, and he can't even be relieved about that, because he's _still wearing the damn costume_.

"They needed extras," he snarls.

There's a long pause from the living room. "Oh, Lynch. You didn't."

"I said don't ask me."

"You appeared _on camera_?"

Ronan snaps out of his horror enough to turn away from the mirror. "I'm surrounded by fucking lawyers all the time, I learned how to sell out my principals from the best."

"I don't think 'I never want to be in a movie' rises to the level of a _principal_. It's more of a preference, or possibly a phobia."

Ronan walks into the bedroom and kicks off the shoes, vengefully. "It's a fucking principal and I sold out and it was even worse than I thought it would be." If it had been any movie in the world but Noah's directorial debut, he would have said _fuck no_. He almost said _fuck no_ anyway, when he'd seen what they wanted him to wear.

"What," and Adam still sounds inappropriately amused, his voice getting louder as he comes down the hall, "did you not show up on film and finally realize you're a vampire?"

"I had to let wardrobe _dress me_."

"Yeah, I'm afraid to ask what you of all people wouldn't -- " Adam steps into the doorway and finally gets a look at Ronan, who has just gotten his hands up to undo the top button on his three piece suit.

"Holy _shit_."

"Make fun of me all you want, I'm taking it off."

"Why would you take it off?" Adam asks.

"Because it's a tragedy."

Adam steps close enough to run a hand up Ronan's side -- or no. To touch the damn vest.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Ronan says. "This is turning you on."

"Look," Adam says, unrepentant, "relationships demand compromise and sacrifices, I get that. So if being with you means I don't get to ogle well-dressed men anymore, I can live with that."

"What's wrong with the way I dress? I dress well."

"No, you don't." Adam's fingers skim up Ronan's front to toy with his collar, just missing the bare skin of his neck. "If there's one time that I get both, I want to enjoy it."

Ronan breathes. "You're talking a lot for someone who's supposedly enjoying himself."

Adam blinks, turns his head up quickly to look at Ronan and blinks again, like he's working something out.

Ronan cocks his head, _are you going to stand there or are you going to do something about it_ , and as soon as the challenge is offered Adam rises to meet it -- kisses him, mouth opening easily over Ronan's. One hand comes up to cup the back of his neck, brush his thumb up and down the skin there. His other hand runs further up Ronan's side, back down, around and under the jacket, like he's groping Ronan but he's also checking the fit of the suit. Which is weird, but, okay, not the weirdest thing Ronan's ever had done to him in the name of getting laid.

Adam pushes the jacket off, a goddamn relief because the fucking thing was too tight in the shoulders, and only then does he close his mouth, kiss Ronan one more time and take a half step back. He looks him up and down, touches the shirt cuffs and belt loops and the lines of the pocket openings, and Ronan just -- stands there. Holds himself still. His role is to wear a suit; he's basically a mannequin. It reminds him of being an extra on set tonight, _be an object that's shaped like a person_ , except this time he's not doing it for the cameras or the dozens of professional eyes or even for a friend. He's doing it for Adam, and the thought hits him harder than he's expecting.

"Fuck."

Adam kisses him again, short and soft, stays close after the kiss ends, breathing on Ronan's cheek. "Yeah," and then he pushes Ronan across the room until he backs up into the desk.

They rarely use the desk for anything. Ronan instituted a 'no work in the bedroom' policy and Adam, in his infinite capacity for petty revenge, has undertaken a ruthless campaign of throwing Ronan's dirty laundry into the hamper instead of letting it sit around in piles on the desk and the floor and the chair like God intended. So they don't even need a desk in the bedroom. It doesn't serve any purpose, except, of course, that Adam can push Ronan up against it, kissing him desperately, and Ronan can hop up onto it, kissing him just as desperately the entire time.

Adam runs his hands around Ronan's back, down to his hips and tugs him closer: _push me, pull me,_ and Ronan doesn't care if Adam can't make up his mind. He'll match whatever Adam gives him.

He sits on the very edge of the desk with his legs spread, wide enough that Adam can stand flush against him, mouth devouring him hungrily and hips working, groin pushing against Ronan's with a steady rhythm that his cock is definitely interested in.

He gives up on trying to hold Adam. Adam is moving too much, hands roaming without pause, grabbing and stroking and dipping into pockets. He keeps pulling his face away from Ronan's to _look_ at him, like he's committing the sight to memory. After the third or fourth time he does that he leans in, but rather than kissing him again he rubs his cheek against the expensive wool blend fabric of the suit vest, and Ronan gets too distracted to mock him for it because just then Adam _moans_.

That sound is programmed deep into Ronan's psyche by now, the response entirely instinctual: when Adam is enjoying himself, he _keeps doing whatever the hell he was doing_ , even if it's something as fucking weird as letting Adam nuzzle his chest like a stray dog starved for affection. He puts a hand on the back of Adam's neck, brushes down to stroke at his back; there is much else he can think to do. He feels passive and kind of ancillary, like a third wheel for all that it's just the two of them.

Adam rubs his face against the suit like he's soaking in the sensation, works his way down Ronan's chest until he's kneeling on the ground with his face in Ronan's lap. He kisses and nuzzles and mouths at Ronan's erection through the fabric, then moves his attention back up to the fly, to the pants button, before he opens the pants and takes Ronan into his mouth for real.

Ronan bites down on a sound. This is still for Adam, and if he doesn't know exactly how this scenario is supposed to play out, he can guess that the guy in the suit isn't supposed to be swearing under his breath at how hot and wet and sloppy Adam's mouth is. Adam is still running his hands up and down Ronan's pant legs, like a reminder that that's who Ronan is right now, the guy in the suit.

Which doesn't make it easy, to keep his mouth shut as Adam sucks on him, bobs his head down the shaft, pulls back up to lick his tongue around the head of his cock, but Ronan tries, anyway. Does a pretty good job of it until Adam turns his face up to Ronan, looking up at him from so far below and so _eager._ Ronan feels overwhelmed by the sudden eye contact. "Holy fuck, Parrish."

Adam presses his face against against his shin. "I want you."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"I mean it. If you don't want me to fuck you you should say something."

Ronan shuts his mouth and pushes his legs wider apart, because he figures that's a pretty clear message. He'll wait until later to point out the bullshit paradox that saying 'yes, fuck me' would count as saying something and therefore mean 'no, don't fuck me'.

But for now he watches Adam cross the bedroom to the night stand. He hadn't really taken in Adam's appearance when he came home, beyond "overworking a-fucking-gain". At some point of living together the sight of Adam in a white t-shirt and old gym shorts had become normal enough that Ronan stopped noticing it, which was a mistake, because _fuck_ he loves how those broad shoulders fill out the shirt, how the worn out elastic means the shorts sag just enough to reveal a strip of skin at his waist. How the whole ensemble, basic hanging around the apartment like a slob clothes, means that Ronan has managed to build a home for Adam where he can relax and just exist and come down from the anxious ledge of having to impress everyone at every moment.

Adam returns with the lube, considers Ronan. "I think -- yeah," and he tugs him off the desk and pushes the pants off of him. For all that he'd dashed across the room, he doesn't rush that, pulls the fabric slowly down the whole length of Ronan's leg until it's pooled at his feet. Only then does he stand back up and cast off his own shorts and push Ronan back up onto the desk.

Ronan gets himself positioned while Adam fusses with the lube, sits right at the edge of the desk and leans back with his hands braced far behind him. Adam tilts Ronan's hips a little bit more, because nothing's ever right for him if he didn't do it himself, and pushes his cock in.

It's just the very tip, but Ronan's already drowning in want. His head falls back as Adam moves, careful and steady and undeniable, deeper and deeper into him.

Ronan can tell he isn't going to get off in this position. He's too tense, working too hard to stay propped up. That just makes it better, that Adam is teasing him, stringing him along and giving it to him not _quite_ right, which is the kind of thought that makes Adam make jokes about Ronan's repressed Catholic upbringing. Like Adam wasn't every kind of confused mess when Ronan first got his hands on him.

Adam grabs Ronan's tie, wraps it around his hand. He places his other hand on Ronan's back, low, and once he has Ronan tethered in place he really starts to fuck him in earnest, pinning him down.

Ronan gives up on composure. "Fuck, fuck, yes, Parrish, _harder_ \-- "

"Oh?" Adam's hand on his back curls, digs nails into his skin though his shirt. Ronan grunts. "This isn't hard enough for you?"

He doesn't really think Adam can _go_ any harder, so he says "no" just to be contrary.

"No?" Adam grins at him, wicked, a split second of warning before he yanks on the tie and pulls him up to kiss him.

His arm comes up to circle around Adam, hold him steady. Adam's tongue slides into his mouth. He can _taste_ himself, unnecessary reminder of how much he wants Adam -- he _knows_ that already. He's breathing fast, and with Adam's body so close and their mouths locked together he can hardly breathe at all, and he feels light headed and dizzy and incredible.

Adam uncurls his fist from around the tie and rests his palm on his chest, over his speed demon heart. Ronan, still reeling from the change of position and the lack of oxygen and _Adam, oh God, Adam_ , relaxes against him.

Adam hums into his mouth, and then with all of his strength he shoves Ronan down until he's flat on his back.

"How about now?" Adam asks, grabbing Ronan's hips and sliding back into him. "Hard enough?"

He groans. How the fuck is Adam still able to make _words_? This is dangerous, this is perfect, Adam's hands strong on his hips and Adam's breathing loud and ragged above him and Adam's cock thrusting into him hard and fast and deep every time, and nothing in the world that Ronan can do but lie there and take it.

"Fuck," he gasps. "Fuck, Adam -- "

“ _Jesus_ ," Adam whispers, harsh, "oh, shit, _yes_ ," and he bends over Ronan, one hand slipping to catch himself on the desk, until he's half leaning on it. His last few thrusts are wild, uneven.

Ronan can feel him pulsing inside of him, and it just makes him want _more_. He wraps his hand around his own cock, ready to finish himself off -- there no way that _guy jerking off in a suit_ isn't part of this fantasy that he triggered.

But instead of just watching the show like he's supposed to, Adam pushes Ronan again, further up the desk.

Ronan makes a noise of protest that cuts off when Adam climbs onto the desk on top of him.

He swallows, hard, and helps Adam drag him far enough up the desk that there's room for Adam between his legs. Somewhere at the very fringes of his awareness Ronan notices a thought, _this is going to fucking suck if our crappy Ikea furniture breaks right now_ , but there's no universe where that's more important than Adam suspended over him, knees straddling one of Ronan's thighs and one hand resting on the desk by his head and the other hand trailing down his chest to finally, finally unbutton the fucking vest and shirt he's been stuck in all night. He doesn't even care that Adam's going as slow as humanly possible, lingering over each button, because that feels right, too.

Adam finishes with the last button. Ronan feels it, in his gut, Adam's hand lingering over such vulnerable skin, so close to his cock.

Adam doesn't reach lower. He slides his hand up, instead, and Ronan groans, equal parts disappointment and satisfaction at the feel of Adam exploring all the newly revealed skin of his chest, the warmth of his palm and the tingle of anticipation and the quick bite of pressure as he pinches one nipple and then the other.

Ronan is panting hard by the time Adam reaches his neck. He runs a finger up Ronan's throat, traces his jaw until his hand comes to cradles his face. Their eyes meet.

"Oh," Adam says, like he's just figured something out, "Ronan," and Ronan doesn't get a chance to ask him what the question was, because Adam leans down and kisses him

Ronan moans into the kiss, because Adam's body is on him now. He rubs against him, the friction exactly right and not even close to enough, before Adam pushes back up and off of him and grips his cock.

He starts off slow, even though Ronan is thrusting up into his hand, demanding _more faster now_. "Come on, come _on_ , I can take it."

"I know," Adam says, voice very even.

Ronan opens his eyes and sees Adam looking down at him with a watchful, careful look on his face.

There's something terrifying and electric about being studied and scrutinized so thoroughly, about knowing that nothing is going to get past Adam.

Ronan whimpers.

Adam's eyes drift across his face, cool and analytic and sharp when they meet Ronan's, and then the corner of his mouth turns up, a bright perfect smile.

“ _Ronan_ ," he says again, theory-proof-conclusion all together, "yes," and Ronan shuts his eyes and pushes into his hand, trusting Adam with whatever his face shows him as he sweats and writhes and finally, after Adam speeds up with a soft whisper _yes Ronan yes_ , finally comes.

Adam leans over him, lowering himself down on his elbow to lay against his side and kiss his neck without brushing up against his too-sensitive cock.

Ronan shivers anyway.

"C'mon," Adam says after a while, "it's late," and they get off the desk and go wash up and brush their teeth. Adam digs out a pair of shorts. Ronan decides, between eight hours in a suit and then taking it up the ass, that he wants to sleep naked, so he sprawls out on his stomach on top of the covers because it's eighty fucking degrees outside because it's always eighty fucking degrees in LA.

Adam climbs onto the bed after him, settles down. His breathing goes slow and even, but he's running his fingers lazily over Ronan's tattoo, so he's still awake.

"Is it a problem that you spend all day around men in suits?"

"Ngh." He can feel Adam stir; he was closer to sleep than Ronan realized. "Before tonight I might have said yes."

"What, tonight didn't live up to you fantasies?"

"I think tonight created several dozen new fantasies, which you are now on the hook for." Ronan doesn't object. It'll serve wardrobe right if he never returns their stupid clothes. "But it made me realize that a suit is even hotter when you're the one in it."

Ronan rolls over so he's facing Adam.

Adam blinks at him with half-open eyes and a soft sleepy smile, and Ronan is so full of warmth and Adam and sleep that it hurts. He reaches out and pushes Adam right up to the edge of the mattress, hesitates just long enough for understanding to flash across Adam's face, and then he pushes Adam off of the bed.

"That is some mushy bullshit," Ronan says. "Come back when you have a freaky new fetish."

Adam sits up, puts his arms on the side of the bed and rests his chin on his hands, thoughtful.

"Have I ever mentioned that nipple piercings are hot?"

"Christ, Parrish, pick a type."

Adam grins at him, and Ronan is going to pay for _you pushed me off of the bed_ at some point, but right now there's nothing but joy in that smile. "I'm pretty happy with what I picked."

That's some mushy bullshit too, but Ronan figures it's three o'clock in the morning, he can overlook it this time. He pulls Adam back up into bed and wraps around him and falls instantly, blissfully asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic you can [reblog it on tumblr.](http://toast-the-unknowing.tumblr.com/post/176030770775/everyone-goes-crazy-over-such-and-such-and-such)


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